


Irresistible

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 23:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13534446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oldfic from ff.net. Kyle is bored with his relationship with Stan and needs a little passion in his life





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an oldfic from ff.net (2012) I never finished but every so often get the urge to continue. I'm thinking of moving all my ff.net stuff here since right now it's split between here and there.

Kyle felt beautiful. Sexy. Irresistible. Wanted. Christophe told him he was such as he touched him. One hand lazily stroking Kyle's already weeping member as the other traced delicate patterns across the red, burning flesh of his backside where he had beaten the Jew so mercilessly just minutes ago. Where his fingertips traced the skin turned white for a split second before melding back into the fiery red flesh.

"Look how beautiful you look, Kyle," the French boy mused wetly in his ear, his large, leanly-muscled body lying over Kyle's own, totally eclipsing him in size and strength. "You always turn such a lovely shade of red for me. Such a good little boy you are for daddy."

Kyle groaned into the cheap, damp hotel pillowcase he was clutching so desperately. Every turn of the older man's wrist brought a small jolt of pain from the burning flesh of his buttocks and somehow another drop of pre-cum dripped down the side of his pink, verging on purple, fleshed shaft. This man was nothing like his really "daddy." If he had been he wouldn't be here with him now. Why would he want anybody like his father? His weak-willed, mild-mannered, underweight father was the last person he would want to share a bed with. He had grown up to be just like him. Kyle wouldn't have wanted to share a bed with himself either.

"What would you say if daddy touched you in your dirty place, Kyle?" Christophe leaned down to give a wet lick to Kyle's ass cheek.

"Don't."

"Why not? Are you afraid you'd like it?" Another lick, a bit closer to his actual opening.

"I don't want you to touch me."

"If you don't want me to touch you then why are you leaking all over my hand, you filthy little boy?"

Kyle buried his face deeper into the rough-cloth of the cheap floral pillowcase. His face burned almost as badly as his backside, though the scratchy fabric didn't hurt nearly as bad against his face as the calloused, coarse skin of Christophe's fingers did against his bruising skin. It didn't feel nearly as good either. He resisted the urge, though barely, to rub himself against the threadbare, gray sheets.

When he didn't answer, Christophe suddenly raised his hand and gave his already throbbing ass a good smack. The contact of the firm slap against the cooling spit made the sting even more pronounced. Kyle felt his cock jump in surprise and excitement.

"Answer me."

"I already said I didn't want you touching me," Kyle protested shrilly.

"Oui, but you didn't give me a reason. Why shouldn't I touch you? You're such a little slut. You'd let any man who walked into this room right now fuck you for a dime, so why wouldn't you want me to touch you?" As if to prove his point, Christophe gave Kyle's ample rump a good squeeze.

"That's not true," Kyle murmured weakly. "I'd never…I have too much self respect to do such a thing."

"Sure you have too much pride," Kyle couldn't see it, but he could hear the smirk in the Frenchman's voice. He lifted his head from his pillowy sanctuary, his neck straining at the effort, to glance at the slightly elevated mirror across the room. Sure enough he saw Christophe leering back at him in the mirror, his devilishly handsome face and tousled hair bringing another leap from the Jew's cock. "So much pride I was able just to walk into this room, surprise you in your sleep, and rip the clothes off your slutty little body with hardly any resistance. I didn't even have to offer you that dime, you cheap whore."

"I resisted," Kyle insisted, "I bit you."

"Foreplay," Christophe laughed off the oozing wound on his left shoulder. What was a little bite to a mercenary? He barely even drew any blood. He gave Kyle's ass another slap. "Come on bitch; spread your legs for daddy."

"No!"

"I said spread 'em." Kyle attempted to get away from the forceful grip, grabbing onto the side of the bed for leverage, kicking with his long, coltish legs at the foreign man behind him. All the scrabbling and biting and scratching and kicking in the world was no use against this man that nearly doubled him in weight though.

Exhausted and panting, Kyle's head was shoved down against the mattress with a hand against the back of his neck. The Frenchman adjusted the younger boy's hips as he wished, pulling his ass into the air and spreading his legs to an uncomfortable angle. Once he had him where he wanted him he grabbed both of Kyle's wrists with one hand and retrained them by twisting them into the small of his back and holding them there. Kyle gasped in absolute pain as Christophe shoved his way inside him with little more than a warning and a hand full of spit.

The pain was blunt and focused, not a burning or tearing, as Kyle always remembered hearing it described in those dirty stories he read when he was fourteen, but a spasming, tight pain that hurt his soul almost as much as his ass. The older man gave him scant seconds to adjust before he pulled back, almost out entirely, giving him momentarily relief from the horrible sensation, and then slammed back in full force. Kyle swore he could feel the man's cock in his throat

He let out a sob, begging the larger man to stop, telling him that he was hurting him, that he didn't want this, that he just wanted to go home. Christophe gave him a hardy slap against the side of the head with the hand that wasn't holding his wrists and then shoved his face back into the mattress.

"You sound like a dying cat. Now be a good little boy and beg me to fuck you harder and I'll touch your cock for you."

"Never! I'd never beg you for such a disgusting thing! Never! Not if I was being tortured to death at the hands of Adolph Hitler himself!"

To Kyle's credit, he did manage to resist for almost three minutes.

Christophe didn't believe in being gentle in the act of fucking. If it was worth putting his cock in, it was worth tearing apart in the process. By the time he came Kyle had been slammed almost flat into the mattress, each thrust pushing his legs a bit farther apart below him until they were almost unbearably widely spread beneath him. His ass felt raw, like pulverized meat, and his cock was sore and tender, and very wet. Still, Christophe kept pounding away at him from behind, not having reached his own climax. Suddenly, he went still.

"Not inside of me," Kyle cried out quickly.

"Don't tell me where I can't come, bitch."

Still, Christophe pulled out with a wet plop before emptying his load across Kyle's red ass and pale back. Then he gave Kyle a shove onto his side and fell down in part of the bed where Kyle had been just lying.

"Geez, I love you too," Kyle huffed indignantly at being pushed aside like an in-the-way shopping cart at the grocery store.

"Don't you have a boyfriend to be getting home to," Christophe replied, not even opening his eyes.

Kyle was quiet for a moment. He had been enjoying himself still. Acting put off, annoyed, indignant, it was part of this. He didn't need it ruined by that sudden realization he shouldn't even be here.

"I suppose I should be getting back," Kyle admitted quietly, the fight gone from his voice. "He won't be home for a couple more hours but I need to shower and get dinner started."

Christophe just gave a hum, or was it a huff, in agreement, staring at the inside of his own eyelids. Kyle slipped out of bed, sore and a bit shaking and feeling extremely satisfied, looking around for the remains of his discarded clothes. He learned long ago not to wear anything that ripped easily or had buttons to these occasions.

As he was leaning over to pick up one of his socks beside the dresser he suddenly felt eyes on him. That weird sense you were being watched. He shifted his head to look beside him and saw the Frenchman leaning up on one elbow, staring at him, hungrily.

"Stop looking at me."

"I like to look at you."

"I know, but stop."

"Then stop leaning over so provocatively."

"How else am I supposed to get my clothes where you left them all over this filthy hotel floor?"

"I like seeing you like this," Christophe ignored Kyle's question. "You're gorgeous like this, you know. I like seeing what I did to you. Your perfect prissy hair all messed up. Your nerdy white skin all flushed. And when you bend over like that, your asshole is gaping and leaking."

"Ew. That's gross."

"No, it's hot. My cock did that to you. Made you gape. It's like my cock left an imprint inside you. It makes me want to fuck you again."

"That's still gross. And you can't, I have to get home and make dinner."

"Your boyfriend's rich, make him take you out."

"No, Christophe," Kyle replied firmly, "I have to go."

As usual when Kyle said no to Christophe touching him, the Frenchman's penis was inside him within five minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

He never meant to cheat on Stan. In fact, if the Kyle of ten years ago had heard somebody suggest such a thing he probably would've given them a good sock in the nose. Kyle Broflovski was an upstanding gentleman with strict moral values; he would never betray someone he loved.

And if he loved anyone, it was Stan Marsh.

Stan was the perfect boyfriend. He was extremely good looking, even tempered, athletic, intelligent, charismatic, and successful. Really, he was more than a scrawny, nerdy, daywalking Jew could ever hope or ask for.

"So why do I keep doing this," Kyle murmured to himself as he washed the sweat and other bodily fluids from his body.

These episodes always left him feeling dirty and guilty. After the twenty minutes of satiation and bliss that followed faded, anyway.

He hadn't been cheating on Stan that long, really, only a year or so. Kyle wondered, if perhaps, it was just the newness of it all that appealed to him. Maybe he'd get used to it and no longer be turned on by the rough treatment, sooner or later. Or maybe it'd just get worse. Maybe he'd turn into one of those freaks who can only get off by having car batteries attached to their nipples.

He couldn't recall if sex with Stan had still excited him after the first year. When did he stop craving it? When did it become a burden?

Had he really ever enjoyed it as much as he did with Christophe? He must've, at least his first time, right?

He had certainly enjoyed his first time with Christophe. It had been at one of Stan's co-worker's holiday party. The Mole was the last person he had expected to run into, and he had certainly never expected to end up in bed with him that night. Christophe had waited until late in the evening to make his move, after Stan had already consumed one too many cups of spiked holiday punch and was snoring on the couch with his head leaning back and his mouth wide open.

Sometimes, when needing help to get himself off when making love with Stan, he thought about that night. Christophe grabbing him by the wrist, dragging him into the co-worker's daughter's empty bedroom. She was away visiting her mother's family, the man had mentioned when he offered her bed to anybody needing a place to sleep off the booze. Kyle had fought of course, with every tooth and nail, but Christophe had been much too strong for him and everybody who wasn't passed out were outside in the hot tub. Besides, Kyle was half drunk himself. Christophe had whispered some dirty words in his ear, half of them in French, but Kyle had got the idea. Something about having watched him all night, and what a little whore he was, showing off his tight little ass to everyone when they had been playing Cranium.

Usually after drinking more than a couple beers Kyle found it extremely difficult to maintain an erection, but something about Christophe was like an aphrodisiac. No matter how unsexy Kyle felt, Christophe made him feel like a porn star who had just swallowed an entire bottle of viagara.

Technically, that night had probably counted as rape. Kyle had legitimately tried to fight him off and even when Christophe had shoved his dick into him Kyle had been screaming and hitting him. That first time Christophe had taken him face to face, so he could hold him down and cover his mouth better, if need be. It had taken a good ten minutes of being fucked into the mattress before Kyle gave up and just went for the ride. And it had been good. Oh so good. The slowed libido from the alcohol made him last for what seemed forever and Christophe, though not drunk whatsoever, had refused to cum until Kyle did.

Afterwards, Christophe wiped the tears from Kyle's cheeks and asked when they could meet up again.

Kyle didn't know why he didn't just tell Stan about it in the morning. Confess he had been raped. Was it because he was ashamed that Christophe made him cum? It hadn't been his fault. Not that first time. He had tried to fight him off. He had. So why didn't he tell Stan?

Maybe it was just the thrill of actually cheating, the fear of being caught, that was the attraction? If that was it though why did he always feel so horrible after?

Often, he'd come home and spend a good hour in the shower, much longer than he really needed to remove any evidence from his illicit encounter. Some evidence did not fade so easily. Bruises, mostly, but occasionally a scratch or bite. Stan never mentioned them and Kyle wondered if he never noticed them, or just assumed he was the cause of them himself. Maybe he thought Kyle was that fragile he could hurt himself that badly just be bumping into a door jam or scratching an itchy spot.

He certainly treated Kyle as if he were that fragile. And in there lay the problem. He wasn't that fragile. He didn't need to be handled like some grandmother's antique china. If he pushed him onto the bed once in awhile his bones wouldn't shatter. If he gave him a hard slap across the rump now and again his skin wouldn't split. He was just as much a young man as Stan. Maybe he didn't have the same broad shoulders or bulging calf muscles, but he was still lean and strong and capable of taking care of himself in a fist fight if need be.

"That was the last time," Kyle swore to himself, leaning his forehead against the shower's marbled side, for maybe the twentieth time, perhaps the hundredth, and he knew deep down he was just lying to himself. He'd go back. He always did. Christophe was just…he was irresistible. He was like an addiction. No matter how many times Kyle told himself that it was no good for him, that he had to give it up, he always gave in.

In a way, cheating was the loneliest thing he had ever done. It must be easier for girls. When they find themselves cheating on their boyfriends or husbands, they just tell their best friend about it, and their best friend tells them they're stupid cheating whores and guilt trip them into stopping. But Kyle's best friend was the one being cheated on. If he told Stan what he was doing he'd receive more than a tongue lashing and a guilt trip.

"Kyle." He heard a distant voice from downstairs. It sounded like it was drifting up the steps, as if somebody were either walking up the stairs or calling up them. "Are you home? Where are you?"

"I'm in the bathroom," he called back, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. "I'll be right out."

"Hard day at work," Stan asked as he opened the bathroom door, releasing a cloud of steam into the hallway.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers. Of course he was, it was Friday. He always brought Kyle home something on Friday, flowers or chocolate or wine or another stuffed animal to add to his collection which barely fit into the spare bedroom's closet as it was. Kyle didn't have the heart to tell him to stop bringing him stupid stuffed animals. On their first date together, back in tenth grade, Stan had won him a stuffed pug at some cheap carnival game. It had become a tradition. He remembered fondly the Friday when Stan came home one day with a wriggling pocket full of Sunshine, a pug puppy much smaller than the stuffed animal Stan had once won him.

Sunshine was probably dozing in her favorite spot on the back porch at the moment. She was born deaf and never noticed when her owners came or left if they weren't in sight.

"Not especially, just glad the weekend is finally here," Kyle replied. He grabbed a towel and began drying his hair. "Did you want to go out for dinner?"

"If you want. I'm kind of tired though, would you be okay ordering in?"

"That's fine, you can pick where. I didn't feel like doing any dishes so I didn't cook anything."

Stan set the flowers down on the sink and walked over to Kyle, giving him an affectionate hug. He didn't appear to care that Kyle was soping wet and he just soaked the front of his shirt. After all these years Stan was still so loving and attentive.

'He's so good to me,' Kyle thought to himself with a half-hearted return of the hug, 'Too bad I hate him.'

* * *

'He's so good to me, I love him more than anything,' Kyle thought to himself an hour later. They were laying on the couch playing video games, greasy paper plates smeared with congealed pizza cheese on the floor in front of them. Kyle's head was resting against Stan's arm where he laid against him, and Sunshine was curled up in the space between Kyle's legs and the couch.

"I love you," he said aloud, turning to give Stan a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Love you to," Stan replied, keeping his eyes on the game.

Kyle preferred to be affectionate towards his boyfriend when he was distracted. If they were alone in bed or just watching a movie Stan might start touching him, maybe rubbing his thigh or trying to get a hand up his shirt. Whenever he did such a thing Kyle attempted to distract him, take his mind off sex, but it only worked half the time.

He loved Stan, he truly did. He also hated him. He was resentful towards him. It wasn't Kyle's fault he was having an affair behind Stan's back. He had expressed his wishes with Stan before, many times in fact. Red faced confessions whispered in the dark afterwards, when Stan asked how it was. Maybe a half-lie that it was good but could he maybe, perhaps, next time, could Stan give him a little spanking? Or maybe pull his hair a little? Or some dirty talk? Or even put his hands around his throat, ! He just, you know, was curious.

And maybe, once or twice after, Stan would give him a gentle slap to his butt, barely felt through his boxers, or would call him a dirty whore. But within a week he was back to his romantic, gentle self, stroking Kyle's hair and kissing him tenderly on the shoulders as he took him from behind, after a half hour or more of foreplay. He would be so controlled and slow, as if he wasn't in a rush, as if it wasn't something he needed desperately and now. Like he didn't even need Kyle. Like their lovemaking was just something that had to be done, like the dishes or laundry. It left Kyle feeling unwanted and unfulfilled. He no longer received any satisfaction from it.

It wasn't like you could stop in the middle of sex and be like "Okay, now you pretend to be the creepy rapist who just entered the bedroom and I'll be the virginal boy from the swim team." Asking to be ravished totally defeated the purpose of it. It killed the mood.

And besides, Stan just did not get it.

Even when he tried to fulfill Kyle's wishes and go along with his weird little fetishes, you could tell he didn't get any enjoyment out of it. He didn't look intense with concentration or smirk with satisfaction when Kyle cried out or wiggled across his lap.

But Christophe…Christophe got it. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he just genuinely enjoyed hurting the tiny Jew. That was totally possible. He might've been a genuine sadist.

Either way, it was the best sex that Kyle ever had.

Though considering Stan had been his first, and only until Christophe came along, that wasn't saying much.

Maybe Stan was just a shitty lover?

"Do you want to go to bed," Stan asked, noticing the little tent in Kyle's boxers, just the mere thought of Christophe being enough to get a reaction from him.

No, he certainly did not. He couldn't imagine anything more annoying and tedious.

"Not tonight," he shrugged off the obvious invitation. "I feel drained from work. I just want to chill on the couch."

"Okay," Stan agreed, putting off the inevitable. Kyle knew, sooner or later, he'd have to give in and go to bed with Stan. He'd have to put up with a half hour, or possibly longer, of Stan initiating foreplay, where at best he only managed a rubbery half-erection. And when Stan took him he'd close his eyes and pretend it was Christophe and try to imagine what filthy words would come from the Frenchman's lips. Even then, his orgasm would be barely pleasurable, too forced and not nearly sudden enough. Kyle called them hiccup orgasms. Where they were there, but it seemed like after an inconveniently long time they were just starting, and suddenly they were over, like it had suddenly came to a halt.

Really, it was all Stan's fault. He deserved to be cheated on. First he hadn't been there to save him from Christophe, and then he wasn't doing his part to keep Kyle satisfied. It was all Stan's fault.


	3. Chapter 3

Monday mornings were always like New Year's Day for Kyle Broflovski, lacking the hangover and horrible morning breath but also the chance to enjoy champagne and dancing and a festive countdown. Maybe if all people celebrated New Week's Day it wouldn't be quite as exciting as the yearly countdown either.

He had been meeting up with Christophe DeLorne at least a couple times a week for a little over a year now, Monday through Friday for the most part, since Stan was usually around during the weekends. At that rate Thursday would be the absolute latest for their first meeting of the week, but usually it came much earlier in the week, Tuesday, maybe, perhaps Monday on rare occasions, so of course by every Thursday said week was already lost. At that point it was just best to start afresh the following Monday. Why bother to try to stop after a Tuesday or Wednesday? By then the week was already lost and he couldn't claim any real accomplishment be abstaining from any questionable activities with Christophe.

It's like after breaking a diet by eating a whole box of chocolates, why bother to order the diet soda? Just enjoy yourself the rest of the day and start over tomorrow. The good thing about abstaining is you always have the chance to try again later. You can't miss the chance to not do something. You mess up, you just start again. Kyle's mother had taught him that back when he lived with his parents as a child. She'd always shrug off the incident where she broke her newest diet and say she'd try again at the next meal, or the next day, or the next week. Of course, she had also had to get her stomach stapled after that last diabetic coma to fully control her deadly eating habits.

Of course, cheating wasn't quite the same as overeating. He wouldn't die by having sex with Christophe, unless the other man suddenly contracted some horrible STD. Christophe couldn't give him diabetes or high cholesterol. On the other hand, his father had also never left him mother because she had cheated and had a piece of cheesecake.

This cycle of starting and restarting was finally coming to an end though. That was what made this Monday special. It was time to renew his resolution and this time he would keep his promise. This was the week he'd go on his Christophe-free diet. And this time he meant it. It would take a lot of pieces of cheesecake to kill a person, but only one occurrence of being caught in the act of cheating to break up a relationship for good. While Kyle did like cheesecake, he would give it up if it meant keeping his life, and Stan was a lot more precious that a piece of sugary dessert. So yes, this time, it was over. Well and truly over. For good. Every inch of his body and mind was ready to devote itself to purifying himself and keeping himself loyal and devoted to his boyfriend. This time he meant it.

As he did every Monday.

Kyle sat at his overly-crowded desk in his cubicle, feeling proud of himself that he was giving up his affair. No more Christophe in his life. No more being slapped around and humiliated. No more secret encounters and scalding showers. No more smoky brown eyes and teasing grins and strong, calloused hands. Today was the first day of his new life.

'Really, it's the perfect time,' he mused to himself. His and Stan's fifteenth anniversary was coming up. They were driving to Las Vegas this upcoming weekend to spend a romantic weekend together, seeing the shows and living a life of luxury at the Venetian, a hotel Kyle had wanted to stay at for years. He hadn't actually been inside of it but the pictures on the website had left him drooling since they booked their room several months ago. They would finally have a chance to liven up their relationship, bring the romance back, usher in a return to passion. No jobs or family or pets getting in the way. Surely, after next week he wouldn't even give a thought to Christophe.

He looked as the picture of Stan hanging on his cubicle wall. Really, he was more classically attractive than Christophe anyway. His hair was a more definite shade of black than Christophe's dark bitter chocolate brown, and his blue eyes were so crystalline and pure. Who didn't love blue eyes? Maybe he didn't have such sharp cheek bones as Christophe, but he was always so perfectly groomed with such flawlessly styled hair. And maybe he wasn't as tall and muscular as Christophe, but his body was well taken care of, hairless and lean with a nicely shaped butt. Really, what was Christophe but an overly muscled meathead who kept his hair a ruffled mess and left brown dust all over the sheets due to the layer of grime he carried everywhere? Also, he smoked and stank up Kyle's hair and was probably giving him second hand cancer.

No, Stan was obviously superior to Christophe in every way.

Kyle leaned over his desk to the puppy calendar hanging next to Stan and marked a "1" beside the date to mark his first day of his new pledge. Yup, this was the week when his life went back tomorrow.

Never mind the fact the last eighteen weeks in a row started with a "1" on each Monday, never reaching past the "3" on Wednesday.

* * *

'Really, there's no use stopping yet,' Kyle reasoned to himself late Tuesday afternoon as he went through the motel's minibar. Their vacation didn't start for three more days so why even attempt resisting those urges now? It'd just make him miserably and bitchy towards Stan, who most certainly did not deserve a bitching at, and didn't he owe it to Christophe to at least inform him that it was over? And besides, Christophe had already paid for their room, it'd be a waste of money to not use it, and Kyle was a money-grubbing Jew. What was one more encounter after the last year, really?

So it was Kyle attempted to rationalize the fact he had automatically driven to their normal spot for their Tuesday afternoon date. Really, he knew he shouldn't be there, but didn't he always? It seemed resistance was futile. After all, what hot blooded young man could really resist those urges?

True, it was on Tuesday, and he had partaken in Sunday morning sex with Stan just a couple days ago, but as usual it just left him feeling unsatisfied and annoyed. Alright, maybe he could've gone home and just jacked off to some porn, but come on, wouldn't that count as cheating also? At least he only slept with Christophe; porn would be full of dozens of other men he'd be fantasy-cheating with. Really, it was a much more responsible decision. Really.

Kyle found a one serving size bottle of raspberry vodka near the back and downed it in one breath. He wasn't usually much of a drinker but it helped sometimes with these encounters, especially when he was feeling guiltier or more self conscious than usual. The alcohol made him feel more courageous at times when he was afraid to talk to Christophe and more attractive at times when he was afraid to be fucked by him. He found a miniature bottle of Kahlua on the other side of the fridge and sat back against the edge of the bed to nurse it slowly until Christophe made an appearance.

Christophe arrived as usual with no flourish and no manners. He flung the door open without so much as knock, slamming the door knob into the dent in the wall that had been expanding in size over the last couple of months, and slammed it shut with such a loud bang it was obvious he had neither a thought nor a care for any other motel patrons. He was filthy, as usual, clad in a black wife beater and camo pants, a dusty brown backpack with a shovel strapped across it slug over one shoulder. He didn't so much as give Kyle a greeting or a look before striding across the room to the dorm-sized fridge and pulling out a tray of ice. The ice, at least, was a free commodity.

Kyle watched him with an appreciative gaze. While he certainly would never have been Kyle's first choice in a lover there was no denying he was good looking, if you were into that cocky, roguish type. His pants clung low to his hips in a flattering way, and Kyle knew if he hadn't been wearing a shirt at the moment his hip bones would be sharply visible and defined under his tan, scarred skin. Of course, he wasn't wearing much of a shirt, the wife beater was skin tight and showed off his muscled chest and bulging biceps quite well.

He was quite a bit hairier than Stan was, if not naturally at least by virtue of laziness. To be fair, Kyle had no idea how truly hairy Stan may be, the man had been regularly manscaping his body for years so that not even a hint of a happy trail was visible. He wasn't sure if he did that because he didn't like the feel of the hair himself or he thought Kyle would be disgusted by his body hair. To be truthful, the patch of curly hair on Christophe's chest and the blooming mess of kinky pubic hair covering his crotch and leading up his hard stomach were two of Kyle's favorite features on Christophe. When the larger man would grab Kyle by a fistful of curly red hair on the back of his head and force his cock down the Jew's throat, the mere scent of manly musk emanating from the man's coarse hair was enough to put Kyle in a euphoric daze. Of course, giving Christophe head was also an erotic experience in itself, often leaving Kyle wet-eyed and sniffling as the Frenchman's cock left him struggling for breath.

When Stan asked for head, he was always polite and inquisitive and never forceful about it. He also took forever to come and left Kyle bored and daydreaming in attempt to get away from the ache in his jaw.

The thought of having Christophe in his mouth, or rather the thought of being forced to swallow Christophe's length down his throat without any opinion or choice on the matter, caused a stirring in Kyle's pants.

"Why are you still dressed," the Frenchman finally acknowledged Kyle as he fixed himself a bourbon on the rocks from the half empty bottle he pulled from the backpack.

Kyle climbed carefully to his feet, careful to keep an aura of dignity and control in the act. He stared at Christophe with his chin slightly raised, but not enough to make it look like he had to tilt his head up to meet the man's eyes. Christophe was actually a good six inches taller than Kyle and if they were standing right next to each other he would've had to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. It made him feel small and weak and overpowered, which was nice at times but inconvenient when he wanted to be taken seriously.

"I wanted to talk to you. I thought maybe we'd accomplish that better if I were to keep my pants on." Even if he was rock hard in said pants, at least they were still a barrier, all be it a rather flimsy one.

"So talk." Christophe stowed the bottle back into his bag and leaned the bag against the wall, being careful to not damage his beloved shovel. Despite the general air of dirtiness that followed him, his shovel glowed silver and shiny as if it had never been used. Kyle knew that shovel was at least five years old and Christophe made use of it at least several times a week.

"I think it's time we stop meeting up like this." There, he said it

"Oh, it's that talk," Christophe took a long swallow from his glass. Kyle watched the muscles in his throat work, feeling his own throat tighten with desire. He wasn't quite sure if he was wishing his own dick was going down that throat or if he wished to be the one doing the swallowing. Christophe lowered the glass with a contented sigh. "We don't need to have this talk Kyle; we've had it at least a dozen times before."

"I mean it this time." As usual. He knew that deep down Christophe was probably laughing at him. The asshole.

"No you don't." At least he didn't sound amused.

"Yes I do!" Great, his voice was cracking again. It always did when he went shrill.

"No, you don't. And even if you did I've heard your little speech so many times I could recite it back to you. So there, we're done talking, undress." Christophe did a little twirl with his fingers as if he expected Kyle to give him a strip tease. Knowing Christophe, he might.

"What if I told you I only came to talk and we weren't going to have sex?" Of course Kyle had no intention of not having sex with Christophe, but he didn't have to know that. Maybe threatening this immediate abstinence would be enough to get the other man to take him seriously.

"Then you would've just called me on the phone," Christophe shrugged off the question. Damn him, he was always so sure of himself. Kyle hated it. It made him want to slap the man across the face, and then kiss him. "You wouldn't have bothered to drive all the way to North Park just to tell me you didn't want to see me anymore. Now quit acting like a little emo bitch. I've had a hard couple of days and I just want to fuck you. "

"In a minute," Kyle insisted. "Stan and my anniversary is coming up this weekend. We're driving to Vegas this weekend; we rented a room for the whole week. When I come back me and you are not meeting up anymore. This time I mean it. Stan and I have been together for fifteen years. I'm the only person he's been with. Before you came along he was the only one I'd been with. We mean too much to each other to just throw it away for…this." Kyle gestured around the tiny hotel room with a broad sweep of his arm. "Maybe I was feeling a bit of the fourteen year itch but this needs to stop."

Christophe took another swig from his glass as Kyle spoke. Some bourbon dripped down at corner of his mouth, following a path down through the week's worth of stubble on his chin. He wiped it away but it left his skin looking wet and shiny beneath the stubble. His eyes looked intense and dark, centered on Kyle's face, but he waited until Kyle was finished before he spoke.

"Alright, I won't rent us a room next week," the larger man replied, as if he hadn't heard past the first couple of sentences. "Now come here."

He reached out and grabbed Kyle around the waist with the arm that wasn't cradling his drink and pulled him tightly against him, pulling him into a sloppy, passionate kiss. Kyle gave in for the time being. Christophe's mouth was very cold and wet and tasted sharply of liquor and Christophe's own unique taste, heavily accented with the undertones of chocolate and smoke.

'Kissing Christophe is like tasting wine,' Kyle thought dimly to himself. Except those labels on the back of bottles of wine with their mentions of blackberries and tobacco and caramel never actually came through to him while the tastes of Christophe were obvious and distinct.

Christophe's mouth was warm now, and when he pulled away he left Kyle wanting more. He allowed the Frenchman to shove him back down onto the bed but slapped him across the face when he reached down to undo the button on Kyle's pants. Christophe slapped him across the face with twice the amount of force in return and Kyle let out a lusty groan.

* * *

On the way home from their Friday afternoon liaison Kyle stopped to pick up a few last items for the trip. He also gathered up all his travel sized supplies of hygienic products, toothpaste and hair products, and threw them in the trash can outside the mall's entrance. He wouldn't need them anymore. He wouldn't have to bring his own products to this hotel. He didn't have to worry about smelling like hotel soap and he wouldn't have to brush the taste of bourbon and smoke out of his mouth before he went home and kissed his boyfriend on the lips.

Walking up the walkway to the house with bags bulging with snacks, drinks, and audio books, Kyle felt optimistic. Like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He didn't have a worry in the world now. He was done with Christophe. He didn't have to worry about being caught or making it home on time or hiding any evidence of the encounters. He didn't have to worry about work either. He was off for almost two whole weeks. The worry and guilt he'd felt for the last year was just gone. Like that. This was going to be the best vacation ever.

There was a piece of paper taped to the front door. Kyle set down his bags and reached out to rip the paper off the door. It was probably another invitation to a neighbor's barbecue, or maybe one of those "Repent or face an eternity in hell" messages he received from the friendly church down the street. They'd been bothering them for years, ever since they realized the two men living together were more than just roommates.

He unfolded the paper and read the words. And then continued to stare at the letters on the paper in confusion, not quite getting what he was seeing.

'I know what you and the Mole are doing. Answer your phone Saturday at 3 pm or your boyfriend will find out. – Your Secret Observer'

Shit.


	4. Chapter 4

"If you were to be suddenly turned into a vampire, what do you think the worst part would be," Kyle had asked Christophe once on a warm spring afternoon in an attempt to get to know this man, this stranger really, who had spent so much time inside Kyle's most intimate of places where only one man had ever been before.

They had been meeting up for months at that point, spending several hours a week together every week, but they never had a real conversation. Not one about true thoughts or feelings anyway. Most of their conversations were either quick instructions on when to meet up next or dirty talk in bed.

The sun had been streaming through the glass panes, covering the sheets and the bed's occupants with warm golden rays. They had both finished a few minutes before and had been quiet and relaxed since, Kyle contemplating the mysteries of life quietly while Christophe smoked a cigarette. Kyle had arched his back as he stretched sleepily before asking the question like a lazy cat on a window sill, lithe and boneless, knowing full well that killing humans would be the least of Christophe's concerns, considering his occupation.

"No being able to fuck anymore," Christophe replied without missing a beat, as if he had thought this out before.

"If you were a vampire then sex would be nothing," Kyle argued, stretching his arms out in front of him so his belly rested against the sheets, "Feeding would be like the best orgasm you ever had and you'd get it every night."

"I like fucking," Christophe insisted.

"But that's like saying you wouldn't want to start having sex with somebody because you'd miss jacking off. Obviously you wouldn't miss it because sex is better."

"I like jacking off too," Christophe replied bluntly. "And why would I stop just because I was fucking someone?"

"Aren't you going to ask what would be the worst part of being a vampire for me," Kyle asked, ignoring the question.

"Why would I care?"

"Never seeing the sun again," Kyle went on as If the Frenchman had not spoken. "Lying in the sun, feeling the warmth on a hot summer day. Just walking through the town square on a sunny day and feeling like the world is bright and beautiful. If you were a vampire you'd never experience another sunny day."

"Why would you want to," Christophe had countered gruffly, "You're a redhead, you get sunburned every time you're outside for more than ten minutes. Being a vampire would do wonders for your complexion."

That had been the end of their conversation that day.

* * *

Now, as Kyle watched the sun move across the sky from the windows of the car he just wished it had never risen that morning. That morning had never come. Partly because if today had never come than he would never have to answer that phone call, and partly because the glaring sun made him feel wide open and exposed. Like his whole dirty secret life was about to be exposed. He wished he could just crawl in a dark cave and never come back out.

How did it come to this? Here it was, the fifteenth anniversary of the day the love of his life had asked him to be his boyfriend, and he was near having a panic attack. They were on their first real get away for ages, on their way to an extravagant vacation to a beautiful hotel in one of the greatest cities in the United States, and he wasn't even excited about it. What kind of man had Kyle Broflovski become?

The worst part was he couldn't even turn to anybody for advice. Nobody knew about his affair. Definitely not Stan, but he also kept it from his close friends like Kenny and Butters. And just forget about Cartman. For all he knew Cartman might even had been the one to leave that note on his door. It was so like Cartman to do something like that. He probably would have attempted to blackmail him.

That's probably what this guy was going to do to. Why even bother contacting him otherwise? It was quite unlikely this "Secret Observer" just wanted to chat about sex toys and share kinky stories.

What Kyle wouldn't give to just be able to curl up in Stan's arms and tell him everything? Let Stan deal with whatever bad things were coming his way. That's how it used to be, whenever Kyle was overwhelmed by the stress of working and going to school at the same time and just couldn't deal with any addition to life's daily stressed. He'd give Kyle a kiss on the top of the head and go off to deal with the dent Kyle had just put in his car or the Jehova Witness that kept following him around on campus. But this time…

Stan's intuition was so strong that he could easily sense that something was wrong with Kyle. He kept bringing Kyle's hand to his lips and kissing his fingers as they drove and even inquired about his somber mood several times, though Kyle repeatedly informed him that nothing was wrong.

At about 2:50 Kyle started to get anxious. The sun had already reached the highest point in the sky by then and had started on its way back down. He'd need to be alone for a bit to answer his phone, hopefully this mysterious caller would be on time, and there didn't appear to be much around to constitute a stop. Stan had just refilled the tank less than an hour ago and there weren't any tourist traps around to pull them in. Finally Kyle just pulled the classic bathroom excuse when he saw a sign for a rest stop two miles down the road.

"You just went at the gas station," Stan pointed out.

"I'm getting motion sick," Kyle insisted, "It's messing with my stomach."

Stan relented and they pulled off at the rest stop. Kyle lucked out when Stan decided to go into the stop's Burger King and get something to eat.

The call came at 3:01 while Kyle was washing his face in the sink.

"Having a fun trip, Broflovski?"

He knew that voice…But of course he did, if they knew him of course he knew them. And South Park wasn't exactly a thriving metropolis. Still he couldn't quite place it. It was on the tip of his tongue, just escaping the edge of his mind.

"That depends on what you have to say," he responded in faux-indifference.

"Don't worry Broflovski, I'm not going to ruin your little trip. I'm not a total asshole. Even if you don't do what I tell you I'll at least wait until you get back to break the news to your hippie boyfriend."

An image of an old rival suddenly appeared as a flash in his mind, a little dark-haired boy with icy blue eyes who scowled too much and stole the swings on the playground.

"Craig." Of course he had seen Craig many times since the flash in his head, had went through high school with him and saw him around town, but he hadn't really seen him as an advisory since they were just kids. It was like how they were when Kyle was a pre-teen, Craig was now a threat once again.

"Really? It took you that long? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one." There was no humor in his voice, no sarcasm or real mocking tone, just a dull observation from perhaps the most uninteresting man Kyle had ever known.

"Why are you bothering me? Why do you even care? You hate Stan."

"I'm still a man."

"What…what does that even mean?" Kyle had no idea what Craig was implying. Are all men required to inform other men when their significant other is cheating on them? Was it like some sort of bro code?

"I won't tell Stan you're fucking around with the Mole behind his back but in return I think you should share some of that with me."

"Share what? The Mole? What do you want with him?"

"No Broflovski, you stupid dipshit, I mean that I won't tell Stan about it as long as I get to fuck you too."

What the fuck was happening to Kyle's life?

"And get tested first, I don't want some hippie French disease."

* * *

Kyle spent the entire week in Las Vegas, for the most part, thoroughly drunk off his ass. If Stan were a bit suspicious of Kyle's behavior he was too drunk to notice and at least Kyle was a happy drunk so it made the trip rather enjoyable. It was Vegas so it was expected and Stan joined him in the drunken revelry. They went to see the Blue Man group and the Lion King rather buzzed, which made both shows exciting and garish, and Kyle was rarely seen without a drink in hand. They went out for expensive sushi and cheap burritos and performed at several karaoke joints in a row. Kyle won three hundred dollars at roulette and Stan lost four hundred at craps. After downing a foot long frozen slushy with a test tube of Everclear added as a last minute touch, Kyle dragged Stan into bed and attempted to have his way with him. They were both much too drunk and barely managed to maintain a half-erection between the two of them. Kyle passed out shortly after with his jeans unbuttoned but still hanging off his hips. Stan tucked him into bed and kissed him on the forehead before heading down to the casino to people watch for a couple more hours before joining Kyle in sleep. That was the only attempt either of them started at an erotic moment in the city of sleaze.

* * *

"Why do you think Stan would believe you over me anyway? I'm his lover, his best friend since we were both in diapers, and he's always hated you." Kyle absently stirred his mojito, swirling the muddled green sprigs and watching them settle again towards the bottom, too distracted really to enjoy the refreshing mint, but needing something to do with his hands. He felt awkward, alone with only Craig and an absent bartender for company.

Craig rolled his eyes at Kyle's shrill, bitchy voice and sipped at the gin and tonic on the bar before him.

"Broflovski, don't make me resort to pictures or eye witness testimonies. Come on, you're already fucking the Mole, what's the big deal? And yes, I do have pictures and eye witness testimonies. Finish your fruity little drink so we can go up to the room."

"I don't get you Craig," Kyle spat out angrily, "Since when were you ever interested in me? You haven't said two words to me since middle school before all of this shit. And whatever happened to your perfect little fairy tale romance with Tweek?" A flash of the blond crossed Kyle's mind as he remembered seeing him, a senior in high school with his hair standing up in all directions and perpetual bags under his eyes. Again, Kyle had probably seen Tweek since then, but if so it hadn't left an impression in his mind.

"Tweek's probably at home ironing my pants," Craig replied smoothly, "Unfortunately, that's about all he'll do with them. I love him with all my heart but the little spaz still freaks out after all these years. Making out leaves him pulling out half his hair, if it ever turned into heavy petting I'm positive he'd have a full on panic attack." Craig set his drink down and rested his elbows on the bar, running his fingers through his dark hair. "I love him too much to ask that from him."

"So he's fine with you getting your rocks off with the most easily accessible human you can locate in the immediate vicinity?" Kyle finished off the last of the mojito he had been nursing for awhile. It had been weak and he barely felt the alcohol, which said a lot considering how small he was. It didn't take much usually to get him buzzed.

"He doesn't know. And you won't tell him." Craig said in a matter-of-fact way.

"Oh yeah," Kyle smirked, "What's stopping me?"

"Tweek needs me. He'd be a mess for awhile, but he'd get over it. It's not like he could get a job and move out. Stan won't get over it. You know that. If he finds out, your relationship is over." Craig put a twenty on the table before them, enough for both drinks and the tip, and then slid off the bar stool. "Come on Broflovski." He extended a hand to Kyle.

"You could at least call me by my first name," Kyle replied with a resigned sigh. He slid down as well but ignored Craig's outstretched hand.

They didn't speak as they took the stairs back upstairs to the room Craig had rented. Kyle wasn't used to the motels having a bar in them, the ones Christophe took him to were lucky to have running water and air conditioning. However, it had ended up being a rather convenient place to meet. There wasn't much of a chance of running into a local at a bar that mostly served people from out of town. Kyle had a feeling that, if this did end up being a repeated action, Craig would probably skimp out on the choice of location in the future. Still, he appreciated the guesture.

Craig triple locked the door after them, as if afraid Kyle would suddenly attempt to run, and then turned and grabbed the redhead in an abrupt hold. It took Kyle by surprise and he jumped for a second, but then let himself go limp and pliant again Craig's taller form. Craig's lips met his with so much hunger that Kyle felt at once both anxious, knowing there was no way he'd be able to fight off Craig's advances if he tried, and a bit more relaxed, realizing that Craig's actions were born from desperation. Kyle wondered how long it had been since Craig had sex.

Lips swollen, Kyle pulled himself away from the dark haired man. He was sucking so hard on Kyle's tongue that it actually took quite a bit of effort and left his taste buds swollen and sore.

"Before we start, I just want you to know I've only ever been with Stan and Christophe," Kyle said quietly, nervously reaching up to brush a piece of hair from his forehead. "I mean, I'm experienced, I've done a lot…but not with many people. I'm not sure if I'll know how to please you so can you…can you just be nice?"

"I won't hurt you, if that's what you mean," Craig breathed. His hands hungrily rubbed at Kyle's shoulders and arms, like it was physically impossible for him to stop touching the smaller man. "I'm afraid to say I have quite few experiences…though with quite a few people. That is, the type you have to pay for the pleasure of their company. I'm afraid when you only get to touch people because they're paid to let you, you never really know if they like it. I'm sorry if I don't know how to please you either Kyle, but tell me what you like and what you don't, okay? I'll learn." Craig stepped forward and crushed Kyle's body against him again. "I know people see me as a monster but I can be nice."

"I know you can," Kyle trembled against him, "If you couldn't Tweek wouldn't adore you."

You'd think after having sex with Stan for years and his affair with Christophe that being touched by another guy would be nothing, but it wasn't. Stan was his best friend. Christophe was a sex god, and to be truthful it wasn't like his first time was exactly welcomed, so there hadn't been any time to feel any guilt or performance anxiety. But Craig? An old enemy, probably just waiting to judge him? He'd probably fuck him a few times, tell him he was loose and a lousy lay, and then go ahead and spill everything to Stan afterwards, just for the laughs.

Kyle tried to shake those thoughts from his head. Old insecurities. Craig wasn't acting like that. Truthfully, he never really had. Childhood rivalries over stupid things.

He didn't seem to possess Christophe's roughness, but there was that sense of urgency and pure want that Stan never seemed to carry anymore there. Kyle had a feeling that if he hadn't been so nervous he might've been able to enjoy the caresses. He lay on the bed, not responding to Craig's actions, not returning the rough kiss or clumsy fumbling. When Craig reached into Kyle's jeans he was completely soft and trembling rather violently in the other man's arms. Craig stopped his administrations and lay panting heaving, half on top of the redhead, his face and breath damp in Kyle's neck. For a moment Kyle wondered if he had come prematurely already. But then Craig just let out a loud, long drawn sigh. He slid off Kyle without comment, walked over to the wallet he had set on the dressed, and opened it, shuffling around the content. Finally, he pulled out a tiny baggy, made a shaking movement over his hand, and returned to the bed, cradling something in his palm. He held his hand out to Kyle.

"Take these, Kyle." Two white pills lay before him.

"What are they?" Now Craig was trying to drug him?

"Just some of Tweek's medication, I keep them on me for when he loses it in public. They'll calm you down."

"I don't need drugs, Craig."

"You're shaking like a redheaded Chihuahua," the older man insisted. "They won't hurt you, they'll just calm you down. Just take one for now if you want. If you like how it makes you feel and you want the full dosage I'll give you the second one."

Kyle stared up at Craig uneasily. Then he sighed a small sigh and reached for one of the pills.

The Jew was larger than the blond they were intended for, in both height and build, but Tweek had also had time to build a level of immunity to them over the years. They hit him quickly and effectively. By the time he asked Craig to hand feed him the second pill, Kyle felt like his body was dissolving into the mattress and the world seemed beautiful and peaceful to him. He grabbed Craig's hand as he slid the pill between the smaller man's lips and sucked at his fingers, enjoying the deep swallow he saw bob in Craig's throat. He lay there, sprawled out and compliant, as Craig took what he wanted. He let his eyes drift shut as the larger man moved awkwardly on top of him, seeing Victorian paintings of flowers on the ceiling, and feeling a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a long time. He turned his head to kiss Craig's temple, which was damp and smelled of shampoo.

'I should be somewhere right now,' Kyle thought mildly to himself. But he had no idea where that somewhere was supposed to be and his body felt much too heavy to go anywhere, let alone climb out of bed.

"Thank you for holding up my legs for me," Kyle told Craig politely, for he was quite sure he lacked the energy to hold them up that high himself.

"Anytime," Craig grunted breathlessly.


End file.
